To Err is Human
by oldenuf2nobetter
Summary: Harry realizes he's made a mistake, but isn't sure how to fix it.


Title: To Err is Human

Pairing: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Language. Character Death (NOT Harry or Draco) Flangst.

Word Count: 1943

To Err is Human

He'd fucked up.

He'd known something was wrong from the moment he'd walked into their flat that afternoon, but he'd misread the situation.

Draco had looked up at him from the small table in the dining room, his grey eyes bright and a flush across his cheeks, and he should have seen the signs, known that something was wrong. And yet all he'd been able to see was the other person seated at the table with him, her back ramrod straight and her white-blond hair an immaculate coronet of tight braids. Tight, like everything else about her, Harry had thought as she'd regally turned her head and pinned him with those pale blue eyes. She always looked at him like something she's stepped in and that needed to be scraped from her shoe, and after the day he'd already had, he just couldn't take it. Without a word, he'd turned on his heel and strode back out of the room.

"Harry?" he'd heard Draco call out behind him, should have heard that the voice wasn't steady, but he kept walking, shaking his head.

"Charming," Narcissa Malfoy had said snidely. "Is he always so polite? So nice to see that he can put your needs above his own petty grievances."

Harry slammed into their bedroom, threw his jacket across the bed and was yanking his sweater off over his head when he felt more than heard Draco at the doorway behind him.

"Harry..." Draco had begun, but Harry just held up his hand.

"Not now," he snarled, kicking off his trainers. "You know how I feel about being ambushed, Draco..."

"Harry, no one is ambushing you..." Draco tried. Harry pinned him with a hard look.

"Really? Then what exactly is your mother doing in my dining room? You could have warned me. You know how she is to me."

"Harry, please, just listen..."

"No." Harry turned his back on him and shoved his jeans and his pants to his ankles where he stepped out of them and headed for the bathroom. "I've had a shit day and I'm going to shower. Maybe after that, I can attempt to be 'charming'." He snarled the word over his shoulder and slammed the bathroom door behind him.

Twenty minutes later, he'd emerged from the shower feeling marginally restored, and a bit like an arse. It wasn't Draco's fault that his mother hated Harry, and took every opportunity to remind Draco how he was 'throwing his life away'. She'd been trying, unsuccessfully, to get between them from the moment they'd gotten together, but that didn't excuse Harry's rudeness. He shaved quickly, dressed carefully, even made an attempt at taming his hair, before heading out into the dining room to apologize.

Only to find that it was empty. And the flat was silent.

Anxiety furrowing his brow, Harry searched the rooms, but the only thing that remained was a lingering whiff of Narcissa Malfoy's expensive perfume and a piece of parchment on the dining room table. Harry crossed and picked it up, his heart dropping into his stomach as he read the scribbled words.

i"Father has died in Azkaban,"/i Draco had written. i"We've gone to make arrangements."/i

"Oh, shit," Harry hissed, dropping the note onto the table once again. "Shit, shit, shit!"

He hurried into the bedroom and grabbed his mobile out of the pocket of his jacket, punching in Draco's number, cursing when he heard the phone ring somewhere in the flat. He hadn't taken it with him. He ran his hands haphazardly through his hair. Where would they have gone? The Manor?

He quickly donned a lumpy jacket over his clothes and yanked a skull cap over his damp hair, grabbing his wand and shoving his mobile in his pocket before stepping outside their back door and apparating to the Manor. But when he rang the bell at the front gates, the house-elf that scurried out informed him that 'Master Draco and the Lady Narcissa' were not there, and he had no idea where they'd gone. Unfamiliar with the intricacies of planning a funeral, Harry had no idea where to go next, so he called Hermione.

After giving him a sound scolding for being and insensitive arse, which he listened to because he figured he deserved it, she told him to try the morticians along the blind alley behind Madam Maulkins.

They weren't in any of them. Nor were they in any of the florist shops, which had been her second guess, or at Gringott's, which had been her third. By this time, hours had gone by and the clouds that had been threatening all day had lowered on the horizon and turned an ugly, gun metal gray. Harry wandered between the emptying shops of Diagon Alley, torn between feeling overwhelmed by anxiety, and like the biggest bastard in the history of the world. He kept seeing Draco's face when he first got home, the unnatural brightness of his eyes, the flush across his face. He'd been fighting tears, Harry had missed it, and now he felt as if his heart were being squeezed in a vise. Gods, he'd fucked up. Badly.

Finding himself near the Thames, he walked over to the railing and leaned on it heavily, staring into the frothing, wind-whipped water. The air off of the water was biting and bitterly cold, and Harry hunched his shoulders, but he wasn't really feeling the chill. He knew that Draco had every reason to be really angry at him, but that wasn't what was bothering him. He should be there for him, he thought, his heart aching. Harry had never liked Lucius, but he was Draco's father, and he knew that he was hurting. It was the fact that he wasn't there, holding Draco's hand, lending his support, holding ihim/i that made the lump in Harry's throat feel like hardening cement. He covered his face with his hands and exhaled heavily into his palms.

Moments later he jerked, startled, when his mobile rang. He checked the read out anxiously, sighing in disappointment. It wasn't the number he wanted to see.

Flipping it open, he put it to his ear, and had no time to speak before a strident voice was ringing in his ear.

"Where are you?"

Harry winced reflexively, putting a little distance between the phone and his ear. "Right at the end of Diagon, at the railing by the river. Why?"

"Don't. Move." Hermione said firmly. "Not one inch."

"Hermione, what...?" But he knew she'd hung up, and he stared at the phone, momentarily considering throwing the damned thing in the river before he slapped it shut and jammed it into his pocket. Moments later, he understood her instructions; the sound of apparition nearby wasn't loud, but it was distinctive, and he turned.

Draco stood not fifteen feet from him wearing his ankle length black overcoat and a soft blue scarf about his throat. He wasn't wearing a hat, and the brisk wind picked up strands of his fair hair and blew them around his face, over his forehead, near his red-rimmed eyes. Harry saw the unmistakable signs of grief on his face, how drawn and pale he appeared, and made a soft sound of distress in his throat.

They each took a step, almost tentatively, then Harry opened his arms and after a tense moment, Draco walked into them.

Harry held him hard against his chest. "Draco, I'm sorry," he whispered against the cold shell of Draco's ear. "I'm so sorry. I was such an arse. I didn't know." Draco breathed heavily against the collar of Harry's coat, gripping the thick down over his shoulders, hands curling into fists. Harry felt a shudder run through his lithe form and held him harder. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." He was no longer apologizing merely for being insensitive, and Draco drew in a shuddering breath.

"Harry," he said, sounding choked. "My father..."

"I know, love," Harry breathed, his hands moving over the strong back. "I know. I'm so sorry."

"I know my mother is a pain in the arse," he said hoarsely. "But she wasn't herself today..."

Harry had his own opinion about Narcissa's behavior, but he'd die at that point before he said another word against her.

"I should have been there," he said instead. "I should have been with you."

Draco shook his head against Harry's chest. "She never would have allowed that. It was probably better that you weren't. We had to identify the body, and it... it was very difficult... for her..."

Harry felt the square shoulders begin to shake, and he closed his eyes tight, tightening his grip. "Ah, babe," he breathed. "Come on. Let's go home. I'll take care of you."

Draco took in a ragged breath and nodded, and Harry stepped them into a turn. They disappeared with a soft 'pop'.

Their small living room felt dim and cold, and Harry immediately unbuttoned the floor length coat Draco wore and removed it, tossing it over the ottoman before pulling a heavy knitted afghan from the back of the arm chair nearest the fire and wrapping it around his body. He waved the lamps at either end of the sofa into life with a negligent pass of his hand.

"Sit," he instructed as he settled Draco on the white leather sofa. "I'll be right back." He saw Draco swallow heavily, eyes lowered as his hands curled in the soft wool and he tugged the blanket around him. Harry tossed his hat and jacket on top of Draco's overcoat, pulled his wand from his back pocket and sent a silent 'Incendio' into the fireplace to ignite the logs already set there, and crossed to the small bar in the corner. He returned with a snifter of brandy in his hand, and held it out to Draco. "Here," he murmured, taking one of Draco's cold hands and curling it around the glass. "Drink this." Draco swallowed again and nodded, taking a sip as Harry knelt at his feet and carefully removed his boots. He was gently rubbing one of Draco's feet through his sock when he felt a hand lay on his shoulder. He looked up and found Draco watching him pensively, eyes wide.

"I'm so sorry about today," Harry repeated earnestly before Draco could say anything. "I never should have acted like that."

"You couldn't know," Draco murmured, sighing. "And I know that Mother provokes you. Come sit with me. Please?"

Harry stood and settled next to him on the couch. Immediately, Draco set the glass aside and turned into Harry's chest, pulling up his legs, his arms going around Harry's waist and his head resting beneath his chin. Harry encircled him with his arms and held him gently, but firmly.

"Tomorrow, we have to make arrangements for... everything," Draco said softly, his voice muffled against Harry's jumper. "The funeral, and burial..."

"I'll help however I can," Harry promised, one of his hands moving in a slow circle over Draco's spine. He felt more then heard the sigh that traveled through him. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just... hold me," Draco whispered, turning his face into Harry's throat. "Right now, I just need you to hold me."

Harry closed his eyes, his arms tightened. "I can do that."

He felt Draco shift until his lips were near Harry's ear. "Forever?" Draco asked, voice a mere breath of sound.

Harry closed his eyes and held him tight. "Longer."


End file.
